Zephyr
by yamikinoko
Summary: .Kagura. Wind by definition must be free, must not remain confined, for a wild, fickle, capricious thing cannot be thus but for itself, the wild, the fickle, and the capricious, those which must remain free.


**Disclaimer**: _I do not own __**Inu-Yasha A Feudal Fairy Tale**__. It is the property of __**Rumiko Takahashi**__; I merely borrow the characters for my own amusement._

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**Zephyr**

i. **wind**

Kagura was born to serve her master, the one who formed her.

She hated it. Her pride may grate at the indignity, but what chafed was the utter helplessness, the fact that she could do nothing for fear of that clawed hand, cold and cruel, wrapping about the contours of her heart.

**.possession.**

Kagura was the wind-child, the mistress of wind whom all the forces of the sky obeyed. She was powerful in her own right, but not enough. Never enough. The despicable bastard had stolen her heart – quite literally – and much as she abhorred the idea, she was undeniably his: mind, heart, and body.

**.longing.**

In between wild races to commit his dastardly deeds, Kagura would sit back, preferably somewhere of high altitude, and watch. Just watch. Anything and everything that passed her line of sight.

She would see how the trees bent and shook and tore beneath the might onslaught of the storm, how the lake was given personality by the lazy joy of the wind, how the birds rose and drifted with the gentle puff of a breeze, all making their marks on their surroundings as they pleased.

She never observed for long. It depressed her.

**.dispossession.**

Her days passed at her master's beck and call were days spent and wasted. She could not bring herself to care for his plans of territorial domination. She just didn't _care_.

When he demanded something of her, she would give it, without eagerness nor complaint, but whenever she passed by a window at the compound, her eyes would inevitably lift upwards to the sky: the beating sun, the drifting clouds. The world she belonged to, but would never belong to her.

**.trapped.**

If you could capture the wind – somehow trap it, cage it – and allowed it to beat its furious body against the walls of your container, felt it rattle against your palms, is it really win you have captured? Look again.

You have only air.

Air that is used, taken for granted by all living creatures, superior to none and just… _there_.

Wind by definition must be free, must not remain confined, for a wild, fickle, capricious thing cannot be thus but for itself, the wild, the fickle, and the capricious, those which must remain _free_.

ii. **water**

Kanna was in many ways the perfect daughter. Quiet, mild-mannered, and ever-obedient to her creator, Mother Macabre. She did not mind, but what Kanna would mind and the existence of such a thing is few and far between. Kanna was there and _nowhere_, all at once.

**.engulfed.**

Kanna was perfect, like a doll, of porcelain and silk, eternally unperturbed, unaffected by the graceless flailing of the world around her, about her. Her life was as placed as her mirror: none touched her, but she reflected her surroundings away from her in a manner impersonal enough to set her aside indefinitely. She never felt and could not personify feelings—all she could do was reflect and away. Always.

iii. **earth**

Sesshou-Maru was feared throughout the lands as cruel, sadistic, and powerful enough to satiate those dark desires. Many would take one look at his icy, pitiless features and prostrate themselves, as to the son of the does; they would pray that the magnificent being would stay his wrath and spare them. Sometimes, they were. Sometimes, their last image was of the inviting earth before the rain of blood obscured their vision forever.

**.trepidation.**

In actuality, Sesshou-Maru was not a cruel, sadistic monster. In fact, he was unable to feel at all. Each and every action was dictated by convenience and whim—he never hated and never loved; he couldn't.

He has a fine, calculating mind, but what lay underneath – you'd never guess – was fear. Yes, the infamous, fearsome Sesshou-Maru _feared_.

Ten thousand hordes of hell could not sway him, but attachment and ultimate downfall sent a chilling shudder to the core of his innermost being.

iv. **fire**

To be in pain is natural. Thus is the accordance of nature and the issuance of him who made her. To be consumed by and overtaken, to have the darting agonies flare over your entirety, it could have been nothing less than a glimpse through that window beyond—beyond.

It was with a jolt that the pain escaped from her limbs and left her with a darkening bliss that diminished… then flared, bright and blinding—shattered.

**.dethroned.**

The flames of the funeral pyre – his funeral pyre – emitted pungent smoke, dark and hideous as sin, heavy as it billowed against the weary, watering eyes of the – finally – victors. As his body crumpled in on itself and the fire slowly died away – burnt out, self-purified – a harsh gust of wind sliced through the smoke like a well-honed sword, whipped up the ashes—with an almost perceivable sneer scattered the filth to the unmerciful hands of the four winds.

And the wind had a master no more.

**.citadel.**

The gloss of the mirror projected her own features – perfect, delicate, ghostly – back to her and a breath escaped her lips, almost a sigh but for the _nothing_ behind it.

She thought of loneliness. Craved it.

But the perfect doll was perfectly haunted – forever haunted – with images of herself, her constant companion.

A slight wind kicked up and propelled a few pebbles at her feet into the lake, and where the stones kissed the surface ripples formed, endless rings across the calm, glassy surface.

She looked at the imperfect surface. At the slivered moon in her hands.

She turned and left with her new companion (silence) and left herself behind, a glimmering disk beneath the rippling surface of the lake, no longer serene recompose—stirred by the wind.

**.affirmation.**

He was still the most feared of all demons, but for all the power he had ever gained – still gained – each day that paralyzing fear grew, beneath his chest and in the hollow of his ribs. It made him more cruel, more pitiless, more sadistic, more feared… less helped.

For his ailment there was no cure, no herb as could be found, no magic as could be procured.

On a summer day, as the sun beat down upon him and the clouds drifted overhead, a gentle breeze fluttered about him, caressed his form briefly and turned his head towards the east, towards that which he feared most and made him _see_.

Her saw the girl-child who made flower-crowns for herself and her – male – guardians, the unbearably innocent _fear_ he kept with him for no other reason than to do so.

He _saw_.

And she was fear no more, as she danced and weaved and spun, the wind as her companion.

**.deity.**

For every minute she had spent in captivity she now spent ten hundred thousand more at her own leisure, her own pleasure. She was at liberty to travel the lands as she chose, and did so.

Wind is fuel for the fire—helps it burn ever brighter. From her springs forth the desire to live, to be free as all living creatures ought to be, and of that is born the will to live, the fire that sustains _life_.

Kagura was the wind-child, fettered by a mortal master, but now she _flies_, as rules the skies—she is _Wind_, mistress, queen, _goddess_.

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_I am the Wind. I am Free._


End file.
